Forbidden Fancy
by Spheria
Summary: When England first met France, he fell in love... But as the years went by, England was constantly told of how forbidden it was for a man to love another man. Still, his secret love for France remained. Indeed, Prince Francis Bonnefoy of France, has always been his forbidden fancy...


**Note: I'm using all their names possible, England/Arthur Kirkland/etc. They're humans in this story, but are political representatives/monarchs of their countries. I usually call them their country names because it's I just want to. And since they are personified countries, that means they are literally human beings. :)  
**

It was a bright, sunny, and breezy summer afternoon for a young noble lad named Arthur Kirkland. But, he was also known by all as Great Britain. Whoever "all" were, the little aristocrat knew he was of particular fame, but little did he know it was fame of continental recognition. Despite his apparently great reputation, being a child of a line of nobility had him raised in isolation. As a child he was somewhat overprotected, moreso for having been a growing country.

As an English aristocrat, he always had important matters to attend. For such matters, all too often his times to play were shortened. Life had always been busy for little Arthur. Due to his duties as a nobleman and a country, he never really had enough time for friends. Whatever friends he had, often later fought with him or committed some other misconduct.

Having taken his duty too seriously, he readily decided for himself to be alone. In solitude, he always thought more for himself and relaxed a little. In the king's garden, he felt he had found the right time and place to tend to himself for once. In that very castle garden, the British boy was always able to relax. Sitting on the ground and leaning his back against an old, dark green tree was a pasttime for him. The shade provided by the tree brought coolness to his body. The warmth of the summer sun was often warm enough for anyone to sweat in their fancy noble clothes.

As alone as England felt during his childhood, he knew he wasn't always alone. It was a year back when a kindhearted chap once visited him. What with his charisma, certainty, and contentness, it seemed he was happier than England could ever be. The person's charm and joy were all Arthur Kirkland had secretly envied. Exactly who is this person? Why, it is the prince of a country below the land of the British. Prince Francis Bonnefoy, also known as France himself, is who!

England's only friend, other than his own brothers, was the Prince of France. The French prince had always and will always have such charisma. This very prince had such charisma, that he could charm even the young nobleman Arthur. With his lovely blonde and tenacious, wavy locks of hair, France was always of aesthetically pleasing appearance. According to the English lad, this very French prince was beauty personified.

However lovely Francis' appearance was, Arthur felt disdain for his own lack of charm. He also had felt somewhat spiteful of the prince's amorous attitude. _"Every year I will come to visit you, on this day", _the young France said to England that first day. What England was not aware of, was that it was France's birthday that very day they met and are to meet every year. As Prince Francis Bonnefoy said those words, he gently held Arthur's hand.

Emotionally moved, Arthur stood there with him amongst the roses. Suddenly, his cheeks were lightly blushing as he briefly looked into the prince's azure eyes. Carefully kneeling before the small aristocrat, Francis leaned his head down towards Arthur's hand. About to kiss the smooth, small hand, the English child swiftly took his hand away from the French prince. "I-idiot! Those of royalty cannot so simply show affection to those of noble class," England said out of frustration, all while feeling flustered.

The wind from outside the castle walls blew into the garden. The trees, the vines, and the flowers slowly moved. An awkward silence filled the flowery area. With concern, Prince Francis stared at Arthur and noticed the blush across his face. Having realized what he done, Arthur's eyes were caught looking into Francis' gaze. His eyes began welling up, knowing what he had done to one of royalty. France turned away from England and kneeled down to pick a rose.

From the garden's ground, he chose a lovely red rose. "I apologize, little Britain…" France whispered gently as he kneeled before the aristocrat again. _"_No, I am the one who should apologize to you…"The British boy thought as a couple of tears began rolling down his cheeks. How rude of him it was to reject a European prince, and how informal he was in shedding tears before him. England muttered, "Am I a terrible aristocrat?"

In such an empathetic state, Prince France held sympathy for the little boy. Out of consolation, he placed his arms around England. Caressing his head slowly, he soothed the teary-eyed boy. "There, there," France mumbled to the child, "you are and shall be a great nobleman." The younger aristocrat stopped his stream of tears as he was warmly embraced. He looked up to see the prince's gracious smile. The sun which shined above had made the prince appear to have a crown of light.

Little England glanced up to look at the royal's face. The prince then gently loosened their embrace. In France's hand was the rose he picked from the soil close to them. He kneeled on one knee while he held Arthur's little, soft hand. He placed the rose onto the boy's hand, and took the other hand. Arthur's empty hand was moved gently atop the red rose in his other palm. Between the now clasped hands of Arthur Kirkland, was a lovely rose.

"These roses are as lovely as you are, so take care," Prince Francis said while he slowly backed away, "I must return to my land, for where there is war, there is…" His words after, were nothing but a blur in Arthur's mind. It was soon the very day, that the prince promised to visit, would come. The aristocrat awaited the French boy's arrival. Unaware of which day it was, he waited with uncertainty.

Every day of that passing year was filled with a weekly procession of taking care of the garden. Little did he knew what Francis meant, when he had said to take care. The young Arthur only thought of it as a request to take care of the garden, particularly the roses. While he watered the roses with a tiny gardening pail, he sprinkled water on each of the patches of flowers. The king himself admired the boy's efforts which maintained his garden.

A few hours had passed as the British lad ran errands, and later sat at a table inside the castle. It was there in that castle where he could have the best tea and biscuits. Enjoying himself, he temporarily forgot about how long he was waiting for Prince France's promised return. Having finished his biscuits and tea time, he walked back into the garden. The garden was very ravishing, thanks to him.

_Who ever thought gardening could be so much fun?_ The little noble fondly thought to himself. Arthur couldn't help but smile, out of sheer pride and happiness for the garden. He stood there amongst the greenery and colours of the garden. Suddenly a voice called out, "Britain! Mon ami, I have returned."

England turned to witness France skip through the garden entrance. The prince's face smiled happily as he approached the little nobleman. He stood before Arthur and gently brushed his hand through the boy's blonde hair. Affectionately, the French Prince pecked a kiss on England's left cheek. England shook a little, "W-what?!" He blushed as he held his own cheek. "Oh, it is how we Frenchmen greet one another," explained France.

As their eyes momentarily locked into contact, England mumbled, "Oh… I see." On his toes, little Britain tried leaning upward to kiss France's cheek. He knew being proper was something a nobleman must always do, especially in consideration of other cultures. Because it was the prince's way of greeting, he felt inclined to do so as well. But suddenly, Francis hastily picked up a watering pail. He backed away a few steps from Britain, and began prancing along the stone path. Merrily, he was softly laughing and pouring water onto patches of flowers.

He stopped watering for a moment or two. "Britain," France said as he stood there, "it was because of you, why I love to garden now." Little England witnessed an appreciative, sincere smile on France's face. Kneeling before a rose bush, France held the pail over the roses. The roses had tiny drops of water on their petals. Clearly, the prince was enjoying himself. His voice gently laughed as he stood back up.

Francis began jogging lightly around the garden. From flower to flower, sprinkling water. He hopped over smaller bushes while holding the garden pail's handle. The younger lad just stood there, quietly watching the French prince. Certainly, Arthur felt pleased that Francis was happily gardening.

However, he could not help but see France as a frog. The odd image in his mind was indeed humorous, but his respect for royalty was afflicted. How atrocious he must have been, especially for having perceived the Prince of France as a frog. Still, for England, it was simply that amusing a thought. The aristocrat boy giggled at his French friend.

"What is so funny?" France asked unsurely. "Oh! Nothing- nothing at all." England replied nervously. There was no way he was going to tell his princely friend that he appeared to be as happy as a frog. "Well, I am done watering your flowers, England." France uttered as he placed the pail back where he found it.

France sat on a patch of grass, and said, "As I watered your garden, I thought about something." England, curious, listened to what he had to say. "You have a few names for your country," France said as he crossed his legs, "and that, for me, seems complicated. So I've decided upon a French name for you, mon ami."

Arthur sitted himself next to France on the grass and listened closely. "From now on, I will call you 'Angleterre.' It translates, in your language, to ze words 'Anglo' and 'land.' Oh hon hon hon." Though a little puzzled by this new name, _Angleterre _felt quite pleased. It was there and then their friendship began, in a castle garden within the heart of Great Britain.

"My prince," a royal French guard stood at the entrace of the garden, "we must return home now." Their time together was ended by the prince's personal guard. Prince France stood up from the grass he sat upon, and helped England up. "It seems I have to go now, Angleterre…" France apologetically looked at England's face.

Somewhat saddened, little England kneeled before the rose bush on one knee. England remembered what France had done the year before, so he was happy to oblige. He picked a red rose from the bush and mumbled to France, "H-here, you can take this rose. Promise you'll never forget me, good chap?"

Francis turned completely to the shorter British boy. His face went from being somber to a look of pleasant surprise. The prince's face lit up at the sight of Angleterre offering a rose. He carefully grasped the rose and held it near his face. "Merci beaucoup, mon ami. I shall cherish this rose, and I promise…"

The young prince turned and went running towards his guard. As he ran, his face became grimace. France pulled a small smile and waved goodbye. "Au revoir, Angleterre! Until we meet again, friend." He began walking out of the castle grounds with his guard.

The guard informed him of their business, "Our king and Great Britain's king have discussed these matters today…" As a prince, it was important for Francis to know what his own leader and other leaders were up to. The guard continued to read a scroll aloud. Soon enough, France walked away from the castle and made his way home by ship.

England watched the young prince and his guard walk into the castle. He stood there alone, in the garden. Having felt a little disappointed, he pouted to himself for a bit. How short a while their time was spent. But as a busy aristocrat, he understands how much more busy being a prince must be.

The British lad left the garden for a while, and walked to the castle's library. The calendar on a table stated it was the 15th of July. Arthur returned to the garden and wondered about how long it would take until next year. He enjoyed the prince's company, but was also not sure why he came on that day, of all days. _If only he would have stayed a little longer_, England thought sadly to himself.

With a need for solitude, he remained in the castle's garden all that night. He suddenly felt all alone. The night was not helping at all, for everyone else was asleep. There always seemed to have been an emptiness in his heart. But in a single night, his lonely life was changed.

That very night, small lights came slowly descending, moving in a circle. The tiny orbs of light began floating round Arthur Kirkland. He sat in the grass gaping in awe, "Fireflies?" The boy wondered what they were as they flew around him three times. A fairy's circle was formed beneath him. The fairy's circle was something he learned about in his black magic lessons from his mother, Britannia, long ago.

The orbs of light shapeshifted into humanlike creatures. Their wings glowed with an array of pastel colours forming a visible aura. England couldn't believe what his eyes just seen. There were fairies all around him, beautifully glowing. In a kind voice, one of the fairies before him spoke, "Why hello there, Britain." With a polite smile, England responded to the mystical being, "Hello." He stared at the fairies curiously and began to wonder if it was all a dream.

All the fairies assured him that they were very real. The fairy who first spoke to him was assumed by England to be their leader. The English boy shown the most attention to that fairy and listened to every word. The lead fairy's name was Asraille and she was a fairy who could only appear in the middle of night.


End file.
